Wrong Side of the Tape
by windscryer
Summary: Even when you're expecting trouble, it can come from an unlikely direction and take you completely by surprise. Team!fic. Charlie!peril. Gen.


Disclaimer: There would be a lot more Colby and whole helluva lot more boys in mortal peril if I owned this show and these characters. Oh the therapy those boys would need . . . :D

Random fic for Lu because she is a demanding h0r. *huggles her Lu*

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"What a mess," Charlie said, looking around at the remains of what used to be a fifteen passenger van.

"Tell me about it. I thought I'd stop seeing this kind of thing when I got back to the US," Colby agreed with a grimace.

There had been—fortunately—fourteen empty seats in the vehicle when it blew up, and the bomber had been kind enough—or dumb enough—to detonate it in a parking lot where there was a lot of collateral damage, but no innocent bystanders.

Which was odd to say the least considering this was a shopping mall and there were plenty of cars and people in the area.

Happily, it was not Charlie's job to come up with the motives. Well, not right now anyway. All he had to do was figure out the math of the bomb.

"Hey, Charlie?"

He scribbled a note and then crouched down to get a better look at the fragment of the engine block.

"_Charlie._"

He looked up at Colby, his watchdog at this scene.

"Yeah, sorry."

"Don't go anywhere, all right? I'm going to be right over there," he said and pointed to where two members of the bomb squad were talking. It was _maybe_ fifteen feet away.

"Yeah, sure," Charlie agreed. He wasn't sure if he should be amused or annoyed by the behavior.

Probably relieved actually, with the recent incidents.

Okay, so Charlie was pretty sure they weren't actually anything to worry about. Not that they were _random_, but even if they happened with a purpose that didn't necessarily make them connected the way Don thought they were.

Charlie made a last note and stood, stretching and twisting his aching back and using that as an excuse to look at the crowd just beyond the barricades and tape marking off the scene boundaries.

He knew that there were agents tasked specifically with taking pictures of the crowd for later analysis in case there was someone watching who was involved in the planning and execution of the bombing. It was less common with bombers than arsonists, but still possible depending on the motives for the bombing.

No one immediately jumped out at _him_ as the bomber, but he couldn't help but wonder—

"Excuse me?"

Charlie jumped with a gasp and spun around, almost immediately smiling sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said, putting a hand over the wide velcro patches on his flak-vest—more specifically over the ones that covered his heart where it was trying to leap right out of his chest. "Little jumpy."

The young man smiled back and Charlie gave him a quick scan. Not a familiar face, but then Charlie hardly knew all the junior agents at the Bureau.

"You're Doctor Eppes, right?"

Reassured his heart wasn't going anywhere, he pulled his hand away and accepted the offered one, shaking it. "I am, Agent . . ."

The young man reached down toward his pocket—for his ID probably—and Charlie raised the other hand to wave him off right about the time that he heard Colby say, "Hey, Charlie, who is—"

The next few seconds passed in a very confused blur.

But when the word refocused Charlie found himself turned around and pinned to the young man's chest, the hand that was going for the wallet now holding a gun that was pointed at Charlie's head.

It wasn't the only one either.

Well, technically Colby's gun—as well as those of the two bomb squad members—were pointed at the man who was holding Charlie hostage, but from his current point of view that was a hard distinction to make.

"PUT THE GUN DOWN _NOW!_" Colby yelled.

Charlie's breaths rang loud in his ears, making it hard to heard anything else clearly, but he thought he heard the rising murmur of the crowd and he was almost positive he heard Don's voice saying, "What the _fuck?!_" even though he couldn't see him anywhere.

Oh, right. Radio.

Charlie swallowed. This was probably a dumb thing to do but . . .

"Wh-why are you doing this?" he asked, grimacing when his voice came out soft and shaky. "You're surrounded by FBI agents and—"

"Shut up," his captor ordered, adding a shake and butting the gun up against Charlie's head for emphasis.

"Okay," Charlie said. "Okay. Sure. Shutting up."

Colby shifted his gaze downward to Charlie's and said, "It's gonna be okay, Charlie. Just stay calm."

Charlie nodded. He could do that.

Mostly.

He focused on breathing so he didn't pass out—then paused as he wondered if maybe passing out would be a good thing.

It was harder to drag around dead weight, right?

Then again, that might encourage this guy to make the weight _dead_ in a much more literal fashion.

No, consciousness was probably better.

Footsteps sounded in a rapid staccato and then there was a whole horde of FBI agents backing up Colby and the bomb squad guys, Don in the lead. Something in Charlie's chest loosened just a bit at the sight of his brother there.

Don would fix this. Everything would be okay now. It was just a matter of time.

"Brightman, let him go," Don ordered.

An unstable laugh sounded in Charlie's ear. "So you know who I am. I _knew_ it!"

"Wrong. I had no idea who you were until just now. But you better believe I intend to change that. Let. Him. Go."

"So what? So you can shoot me? I don't think so."

"Come on, you took the classes at Quantico," Don said. "You know how this works."

"Yeah, I do. You can't give me what you want and you can't let me leave with the hostage. You're supposed to keep me talking until you can come up with some way to disarm me with out risking your kid brother here."

The gun muzzle was bounced off of Charlie's skull making him hiss and wince with the flare of pain.

"Little Charlie Eppes, tagging along after his big brother." Brightman turned his head so he could whisper in Charlie's ear. "Still want to tag along after big brother? You wouldn't be here right now, in this position, if you were at school teaching math, would you?"

Charlie gasped in a breath and tried to figure out how he was supposed to respond to that.

"Dammit, Brightman!" Don said, his body remaining still, though his face tightened in anger.

Maybe he'd just let Don handle it. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

"What do you want?"

"Does it matter?" Brightman shot back. "No. We just established that. I could tell you I wanted a million dollars or the change in your pockets and you couldn't give it to me."

"Then why?" Don asked. "Why do this? If you know it's a lose-lose situation—"

"Because if I'm going to die, I'm going to do it the way _I _choose. _I_ control my fate and only _I_ can say when I'm ready to go."

Don's brow furrowed slightly. "Okay. So what? You want to die? Why? Let Charlie go and—"

"No! If I let Charlie go, you'll try to take me alive." He pushed the gun against Charlie's scalp and left it there, keeping the pressure on enough to force Charlie's head to the side.

"Why like _this_, though?" Don asked, annoyance and anger bleeding through into his tone. "You say you're in control of your fate, that it's your choice . . . Why not just shoot yourself in the head then and be done with it? You gonna make us do it for you? That's not controlling your fate, that's giving the control to us, Brightman."

"You set the bomb."

Megan's voice was unexpected and all attention shifted to her, even if no one physically moved.

"That's why there were no victims."

"Except the driver," Don said.

"No," Megan countered and Charlie found himself actually somewhat distracted by this revelation.

"Remote control," he muttered.

"Shut up," Brightman ordered.

"What?" Don said at the same moment.

"There were pieces of a control device that didn't make sense but--"

"You don't want to hurt anyone, Brightman," Megan said. "And you don't have to. We can help you, whatever it is."

"Shut up! _Shut up!"_ Brightman screamed. "You can't _help_ me. I have a brain tumor. I'm _dying_. I've read the pamphlets and I've done the research. It's a long and painful way to go, wasting away like that. I won't do it. I won't go out like that."

"This is better?" Don asked. "Going out a criminal?"

"My choice," Brightman said quietly, calmly. "My death, my way."

The gun moved away and Charlie dared to breathe in even though Brightman was probably just trying to get momentum to hit him with the weapon again.

That or get a better angle to shoot him.

Don's eyes came back to Charlie's.

Charlie swallowed and wondered if he should try and say something. Goodbye or—

And that's when the world exploded.

In the corner of his vision, Charlie saw the muzzle flash. His left ear registered the sound and concussive force of the blast much more significantly than the right.

His eyes were locked on his brother's, cold and determined and angry and scared all at once.

The arm over his chest tightened fractionally for a moment, then gravity and inertia worked against him and he was pulled backward to the ground. The arm was slack when they hit and slid partially off. Charlie tried not to think about what that meant.

He just lay on top of Brightman, dazed, shell-shocked, and otherwise lacking complete awareness for a few moments until Colby appeared in his line of sight, blocking out the sky.

"Charlie?"

The sounds got lost in the ringing of Charlie's ears, but he was pretty sure that was what Colby said.

David appeared a moment later on the other side, and tried the same thing, calling Charlie's name.

Then two hands appeared in his line of vision and he reflexively reached up. His hands were grabbed and yanked, the world dimming momentarily as he was hauled to his feet in one swift and smooth move.

He almost went down again on the other side of the parabola, but a hard, yet flexible surface appeared to catch him, and it was only after the ringing faded enough for him to hear his brother's voice that he realized that's what—or, more specifically, _who_ had caught him.

"I've got you," Don said. "I've got you."

Gentle but firm tugging forced Charlie to move forward, staggering slightly as his wobbly legs almost failed to support him.

"Easy, Buddy. I'm right here."

Charlie was lowered to sit and realized after a moment that it was the rear bumper of the ambulance he was sitting on.

Don crouched down in front of him, one hand on Charlie's arm. He seemed reluctant to let go and Charlie wasn't going to protest. "Are you all right?"

Charlie didn't bother trying to speak, he just nodded.

It wasn't exactly true, but it was close enough and Charlie couldn't think of a way to communicate, 'Okay but really shaken up'.

From the way Don was watching him, it wasn't really necessary anyway.

A shadow fell over them and they both looked to see Colby there.

"Don, Charlie, I am _so_ sorry—"

"It's okay, Colby," Don said. "None of us saw that one coming. And you took him down. You saved Charlie's life."

Ah. Charlie had wondered. He didn't remember seeing Colby move, but then after Don showed up, his attention had been pretty focused.

"I think we can overlook the fact that you're not psychic in light of that," Don added with a wry smile.

Colby looked semi-relieved at Don's absolution, but then his gaze flicked to Charlie and the worry returned.

"It's okay," he croaked out, knowing Colby needed to hear it. "And thanks."

The relief returned, Colby's shoulders sagging slightly. "No problem, Charlie. Anytime."

Charlie nodded, though he silently hoped that was one offer he'd never have to accept again.

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Review, plz & thx! :D


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